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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292172">two halves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/easy2find/pseuds/easy2find'>easy2find</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hair Braiding, Nightmares, Trans Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:16:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/easy2find/pseuds/easy2find</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“i used to braid zuala’s hair. i could do it, for you. if that is something you would like.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caleb Widogast &amp; Yasha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>two halves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this tiny fic instead of watching last night's ep this morning, so.</p><p>this again is based on the headcanon that caleb is a trans woman. you can interpret caleb and yasha's relationship however you desire.</p><p>comments are on moderation so i can screen for transphobia. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>i am you,</em> <em>the fire roars. she stands at the edge of it, burning, burned, burning again. </em></p><p>
  <em> what does that mean?  </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>caleb jolts awake to find nothing but the hammering of her own heart splitting the stillness of the night. by her internal clock, she can sense that the first light of day will soon try to brave the darkness, but for now it is still black beyond the low light of leomund’s tiny hut. the nein are all asleep around her, aside from one; a pillar sits where a woman should, yasha on last watch before the break of sunrise. although she’s facing towards the threat of the treeline, caleb can read equal parts strength and sadness in the set of her shoulders, skingorger balanced across her lap.</p><p>caleb takes a breath to put out the fire of her nightmares and the soft sound catches yasha’s attention. their gazes meet briefly, and yasha is the one to look away first. caleb wonders if the horrors of her dream still linger in the crease of her brow, takes a moment to banish the memory from her mind and slips her facial expression into something that hopefully looks a little less wounded. she blinks once, twice, and sits up, summoning frumpkin out of the ether and pressing a kiss to his forehead before telepathically persuading him to pad over to yasha, purring. yasha delicately places skingorger off to the side so frumpkin can curl into her lap, letting go of the sword to scritch her fingers behind his ears. </p><p>and caleb wishes it could be that easy for her, whose own hands are strung with a magic she can’t unlearn and scars down her forearms to prove it, blades she can never put down. there is no such thing as a gentle knife, a good knife, a knife that gives, but–</p><p>“i used to braid zuala’s hair,” yasha tells frumpkin, her voice a hundred miles away. the words hang low in the quiet night air and caleb lets them, unsure if this is a moment meant for her to share in. it is still unlike yasha to volunteer the intimate pain of her past so freely, and caleb knows from her own experience the delicate touch needed to guide someone through that abyss. something she isn't quite sure she is capable of. </p><p>but it’s yasha, again, who breaks the silence. “i could do it, for you. if that is something you would like.”</p><p>oh.</p><p>her hands find her low ponytail of their own accord and twist, wringing it like a wet cloth in her grasp. yasha looks back at her once more and, instead of the pity that caleb fears, her face holds nothing but gentleness. the offer is obviously meant to soothe caleb more than yasha herself, and she knows that is something they’re both aware of.</p><p>still, caleb stands to take a step towards her and then stops, catching herself in the space between want and doubt. if it were anyone else, beau or caduceus, veth or fjord or even jester, she would be terrified at how easily she’d just been read, the offer of one thing so delicately disguised as another. but yasha's bone-wrapped grief is something she knows by name, balances on her own shoulders a similar heartache, and here yasha is baring her soul to her. caleb can’t help but find a small comfort in that. two halves of different hollowed-out wholes. </p><p>she makes the decision and shuffles over, taking care to step around beauregard’s staff lying haphazardly on the ground between them. she sits down, her back to yasha against the treeline, and pulls out the band tying her hair back. it falls in tangled red waves over her shoulders. there is no sound apart from the two of them breathing quietly in tandem, and frumpkin, who switches his attention back to his mistress. caleb buries her fingers in the forest of his fur. </p><p>yasha starts by gathering caleb’s hair at the nape of her neck, carefully working out the knots of the previous day. her touch is firm enough to keep caleb tethered in this moment of connection, but light enough that she’s not wincing against the soft tug on her scalp. caleb shivers, nerves alight, and yasha stills.</p><p>“is this okay?” she asks, concern lining the cadence of her words.</p><p>“ja,” caleb says. her voice is hoarse from the night’s disuse. “thank you, yasha.”</p><p>at that, yasha’s fingers melt into motion. her hands find a rhythm, weaving with that same firm tenderness she applies to her harp strings, and caleb becomes an instrument under her touch. the thought makes caleb giggle, an ugly, strangled sound breaking out from the back of her throat and dying on a decrescendo in the dark. yasha just hums gently in response. </p><p>caleb’s eyes fall closed at the feeling of yasha’s cool fingertips against her scalp, and she leans into the touch, exhaling relief. she feels herself being pulled back into her earlier slumber, lets herself yawn and stretch as much as she can without disturbing yasha’s work. for the first time in a long while, caleb lets herself think of bren. of blumenthal mornings, of astrid and eodwulf and her parents. of days when there was no difference between the future and the sky. something sits heavy on her tongue, and it's bitter but it also tastes like home. </p><p>*</p><p>yasha’s fingers are quick, following an old love-worn pattern sewn onto the sleeves of her soul that even her heart remembers. she finishes off caleb’s braid with flowers from the earth beneath them and white blooms through the warmth of her muddy red hair. gazing up at a small fire of stars amidst the endless black sky, yasha feels something soften in her ribcage right below her heart and knows that somewhere zuala is looking down on her and smiling.</p><p> </p>
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